


Moral Principles

by Just_another_phenOMOnon



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Desperation, Established Relationship, Everyone's favorite squirmy bard (TM), Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Kink Discovery, M/M, Omo Thirst Trap Jaskier, Omorashi, Pissing in Public, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scent Kink, Scenting, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Witcher Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_another_phenOMOnon/pseuds/Just_another_phenOMOnon
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier celebrate an anniversaryof sorts, and discover a few things they didn't know about each other in the process.ORJaskier thinks he can hold it...as it turns out, he cannot...much to Geralt's delight.They fuck about it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 202





	Moral Principles

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you d_dandelions and stonecoldsilly for cheering this and chaos_monkey for lending me a few of your commas XD

“And now, a toast!” Jaskier proclaims, raising the wine decanter (which has already been refilled twice) from its place upon a silver tray to splash more into both of their glasses, and staunchly ignoring the way his bladder practically groans.

They had both had quite a lot to drink already and the tension had been quietly simmering in his gut for the better part of the last hour. But _in_ the bath was warm and comfortable, and occupied by a handsome witcher, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to brave the relative coolness outside in search of the privy…he wasn’t even sure where it was.

So, he crosses his legs surreptitiously and shoots Geralt a fond look from where he’s sitting across from him in their rather large tub, raising his goblet expectantly. He had time.

“Jaskier, you’ve made five toasts already and we’ve only been here an hour.” Geralt replies, but the curl of a smile on his wine-soaked lips belies any heat the words might have had.

“That may be true, but we still have plenty of wine and we still have plenty to be thankful for.” Jaskier replies loftily, waggling the decanter with a roguish wink. Geralt hums, settling back against the edge of the tub, fixing Jaskier with a signature predatory look over the rim of his goblet.

Jaskier takes a long draw of his own wine, smacking his lips with a satisfied smile before swiveling in his seat to look once again around the magnificent chamber.

It was a bath house, but it wasn’t just _any_ bath house. Exquisitely carved marble pillars stretched from the floor upwards to a magnificent glass dome ceiling, through which the starry night sky was barely visible above thick clouds of steam. Wrought iron sconces decorated the marble walls, throwing flickering orange shadows about the room. A large communal pool sat in the center, its patrons lounging idly in the shallows, chatting in low voices as serving maids in robes of white flitted around the edge with trays of wine or dried fruit and cheese. Several smaller copper tubs, like the one they currently occupied, lined the walls, seated into a floor adorned with elegantly mosaiced stone tiles. Jaskier can just make out a few of their occupants through the haze of steam, locked in the throes of more amorous activities.

“Didn’t I tell you this place would be the epitome of absolute divinity?” Jaskier proclaims, gesturing proudly with his wineglass.

“Hmmm.” Geralt replies, casting a half-glance around the room, but Jaskier can tell he’s pleased. “So, why the sudden extravagance?”

Jaskier turns his back, setting his globe carefully on the edge of the tub and his breath catches as his middle throbs again. He swallows, resisting the urge to clamp his fingers over his cock. He would finish this glass, and then excuse himself, and it’d be fine. He grits his teeth momentarily before turning his gaze back to Geralt, who continues to watch him with that vaguely carnal, almost-smile that very effectively sends his cheeks flushing and a flare of heat rushing to his groin.

“Well, erm…” Jaskier shifts a bit as that primal grin widens on Geralt’s face, and his eyes dart to the lacquered tiles surrounding the copper tub as though suddenly fascinated by them, “Today is just sort of… _specia_ l…I mean, that is to say, er…” He knows he’s babbling a bit as Geralt pushes across the distance between them. He really only squeaks a _little_ as a pair of large hands grip his hips beneath the water and Geralt pulls him onto his lap, because the abrupt motion has him realizing very suddenly;

He is _not_ fine.

He swallows thickly as one of those hands, markedly cooler than his own flushed skin, cups his cheek, drawing his chin up until he feels Geralt’s lips close over his own.

“We’re celebrating the first time we fucked?” Geralt murmurs with a mocking incredulity against his ear, punctuating the last word with an upward thrust of his hips. The stiff heat of Geralt’s cock sliding deliciously against his groin is a stark contrast to the hot pressure drumming in his gut and the growing urge to fling himself from the tub and run for…well, somewhere that wasn’t Geralt’s lap. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden sting of teeth at his lobe as Geralt’s mouth works from his ear down his neck.

“Who w-wouldn’t commemorate such a d-delicious moment of history?” He whimpers, his cock filling even as the insistent, sharp pang of need continues to build in his mid-section. Perhaps he’d been a bit more optimistic about this particular dilemma than was wise.

“Hmmm…time for a new memory, perhaps…” Geralt growls into the skin of his shoulder, and abruptly Jaskier feels Geralt’s arms curling tight around his backside, pulling him closer. All of a sudden, the slosh of the water and the sharp motion of Geralt squeezing his middle sends a spasm clenching in his gut and he bites back a squeak of alarm as a jet of piss pulses from his cock and into the water. Panicking, he hunches in on himself, tensing his muscles, his thighs attempting to snap together against Geralt’s hips.

The Witcher, still busily sucking delicious marks into Jaskier’s chest and shoulder, at least _appeared_ to take no notice (though that was seldom assuring), and merely continues to stroke soothing circles into his thighs beneath the water.

Jaskier bites into his lip as a flush of heat rushes to his cheeks and he tries not to think about the way it felt; overwhelming relief at letting even a little bit go, the mixed pleasurepain of holding back _so much_ , and the notion that his cock was filling at least in part at the thought of doing it again. _Fuck_.

His thoughts are interrupted as one of Geralt’s hands dips low over his backside to tease at his hole while the other wraps his now fully hard cock. A string of garbled moans falls from his lips, and he wants to howl at the burning pressure in his bladder because he’s never held so much in for so long, and he’s really going to have to say something soon before he finds himself letting go into Geralt’s lap, and fucking _hell_ if that thought doesn’t send a hot burst of depraved pleasure racing down his spine.

He lurches forward to smother a moan into Geralt’s shoulder as one of the Witcher’s large fingers breaches him, sliding in to the first knuckle. He growls low, nosing Jaskier’s steam-mussed hair as his other hand continues to stroke over Jaskier’s cock, slow and teasing, and it drives him practically out of his skin.

“Gods, Ger _alt_!” He whines, with as much dignity as he can muster, nails digging into Geralt’s biceps. His voice is shaking with the effort of keeping it low, and his resolve not to sit here and piss himself is being well and truly tested as Geralt’s finger slides deeper to prod at his prostate. A pleased hum vibrates in the Witcher’s chest and _fuck all_ , Jaskier admits with a groan, it would serve the bastard right if he did. He takes a last ragged breath as though the right words to explain his predicament are somehow floating in the steam-soaked air between them.

“Th-there’s something I should tell you…” he stammers into Geralt’s shoulder, finding himself quite unable to look the Witcher in the eye.

“Hm?” Geralt replies easily, as though Jaskier is about to tell him that the sky is, indeed, blue; or that Tuesday does, in fact, come after Monday. Infuriating man.

“ _Fuck_ —” Jaskier whimpers, feeling another finger slide in as Geralt works him open. He’s practically writhing in Geralt’s lap now, head spinning with wine and pondering if death by internal combustion would really be a bad way to go after all.

And then he feels it; his muscles contracting almost painfully as a second, stronger stream of piss floods into the water between them, and there’s no way Geralt didn’t feel it, languid fingers still teasing over the head of Jaskier’s cock. Panicking, he dives his hand between them with a splash, closing over Geralt’s wrist and stilling his movements, and he finally pants “Geralt, much as It pains me to say, I have to fucking piss right _fucking_ now, and I think it—”

“I know” comes Geralt’s calm reply.

Jaskier’s head snaps to the Witcher’s face this time, Geralt’s unflappable golden gaze appraising him rather hungrily, pupils blown wide. He gapes wordlessly for a few moments as Geralt’s smile deepens, and he lets out a shuddering breath as the Witcher’s fingers probe deeper inside.

“H-how…how did you…?” Jaskier slurs, head tipping back and eyes sliding closed as he rolls his hips in spite of himself, fucking back down onto Geralt’s fingers. He twitches suddenly at the feel of Geralt’s breath hot on his neck, making gooseflesh rise on his over-sensitive skin and he feels him inhale deeply before whispering;

“Can smell you…” Geralt growls into the nook of his shoulder, “…Can smell your scent…can even smell how you _want_ this…”

Jaskier shivers; He might’ve known.

“That-that’s cheating.” He breathes as Geralt’s other hand resumes stroking his now achingly hard cock. He can feel some of the tension melting away along with his previous embarrassment, and with it a renewed jolt of heat as the need to come and the need to piss becomes practically overwhelming.

But this was still a public place, and Jaskier was a respectable public icon. A bit regrettably, he gives himself a shake and braces his hands on Geralt’s knees, attempting to dislodge himself and hoping he has the willpower to make it at least into the hall.

“Believe me, dear witcher, no one appreciates the kinky lens through which you manifest your seemingly insatiable lust through like I do, but…” He murmurs, his head spinning and his body singing hot and tingling all over, and he’s so achingly _full_ with Geralt’s fingers in his ass and his bladder throbbing fit to burst. He nearly loses his mind as the stiff heat of Geralt’s cock slides in along his own and the Witcher works them both over in his fist. Even in the water, he can feel pre-come leaking from the tip, slicking Geralt’s fingers under the water as the coiled tension of arousal burns in his groin.

“Thought you enjoyed performing, bard.”

“Geralt, fffuuhhhhh—I think it goes without saying, this is enti-HI-rely different!” He bites back a yelp as Geralt removes his fingers from his ass and brings both hands to grip his hips, holding him in place, thumbs digging knowingly into his abdomen. “I am a prominent member of society, I have moral principles to upHOLD _fuck_!”

A shivering flush of heat, a momentary warning clench, and another spurt of warmth floods the space between their hips. He can feel the growl that rumbles in Geralt’s chest, feel the way the Witcher’s cock jumps, hard and heavy against his thigh. Instead of clenching muscles he didn’t even know existed in an effort to stop, Jaskier… _pushes_ …just a little, whimpering as his stream intensifies momentarily before petering out this time. The euphoric rush of relief is almost orgasmic, and it’s with an effort that he stops himself again.

“Geralt I should really…one of us ought to maintain some shred of dignit—" He tries…

…But whatever he had lined up to say died utterly as the heat between them beneath the water began to expand once more.

Jaskier can only stare, transfixed, as Geralt’s eyes shutter closed and he tips his head back, a look of sheer _bliss_ breaking onto his face. Jaskier twitches in Geralt’s loosened grip, squirming and angling his hips until the full force of Geralt’s stream is pulsing against his groin, and he almost comes on the spot, biting into the inside of his cheek and rutting his hips as warm urine flows over his thigh. Geralt’s eyes open to slits, heavily-lidded and glittering in the low light, and Jaskier finds himself quite unable to look away.

“If you still need to go…I won’t stop you.” Geralt says in a husky, lust-soaked whisper that generally has the effect of getting Jaskier to do whatever he wants, and this time is no exception. Jaskier gulps, focusing on breathing deeply once more against a fresh wave of burning need that cramps his mid-section and he glances once more about the room before finding Geralt’s gaze once more.

“I need…” He whines as his bladder throbs a warning; he needs to fucking _go_ right now, or he really is going to burst.

“…I need…” He tries again as his cock twitches; because he also wants to be fucked until he can’t sit for a week.

He wants both…simultaneously.

And it’s clear by the look on Geralt’s face that he already knows both of these things, because he tugs Jaskier’s chin forward, kissing him fiercely before whispering;

“Hold it a little longer?”

“Fuck yes, Geralt…just-- _please_ …” Jaskier manages before Geralt’s hands are at hips again, turning him smoothly so he’s half-sprawled over the edge of the tub now, the liquid inside him sloshing almost obscenely and he smothers a whimper into the stone tile. He hears the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the tub as Geralt moves behind him, feels the gentle pressure of Geralt’s hand tugging his hips under the water as the Witcher lines up, pressing the thick head of his cock to Jaskier’s hole.

Jaskier grinds his teeth with the effort of keeping his voice under control as Geralt groans softly behind him, pushing slowly inside. He blushes, suddenly more thankful than he ever thought he’d be for the shroud of steam hanging around them. He can feel his knees shaking, he’s so tight and so utterly and impossibly _full_ even with just the head of Geralt’s cock inside. Somehow it’s almost too much while simultaneously not enough and he presses his forehead to the stone, unable to stop the litany of wanton noises and pleas of ‘fuck me already’, and ‘ _fuck_ , I can’t hold it’ tumbling from his lips.

He feels as if in a daze, Geralt’s hand reach between his legs and wrap around his cock, the only warning he gets before Geralt’s sliding in further and Jaskier keens into the back of his knuckles as a jet of piss spills from his cock and over Geralt’s fingers. He exhales heavily as his stream falters again and Geralt stills, the warm heavy weight of his cock fully seated inside adding to the pressure. It’s all so _so_ much, his body burning with a searing pleasure and Jaskier can feel the heat of release building and he grinds needily back onto Geralt’s cock.

“G-Geralt, hnng, I— _fuuuck_ ” He manages as Geralt holds him steady with one hand, speared on his cock as he writhes and squirms, and pumps him faster with the other, leaning over Jaskier’s backside to plant soft kisses down his heaving sides as if to reaffirm just how much he loves his bard like this.

And then Jaskier’s blinking black spots out of his vision, coming in thick spurts into the water, fingers scrabbling frantically at the stone. He feels Geralt’s hand leave his hip to cover his mouth as a choked cry rips from his throat, his body pulsing out in waves and he goes limp, a blissed-out shaking mess.

He feels the press of Geralt’s lips to his cheek and his warm ragged breaths against his ear as he whispers;

“So good…so _tight_ …doing so well for me…”

Jaskier shivers, the tension flooding from him to be replaced by a warm, dizzy feeling. As his muscles unclench, he can feel Geralt moving again inside him, fucking slow and deep. The singing hot pressure in his middle throbs anew as the waves of his orgasm subside. Geralt’s hand is still resting on Jaskier’s cock, which has softened a little, thumb running lazily over Jaskier’s slit. “ _Go_ …” the Witcher grunts out, his voice ragged and hungry, “…Wanna feel it…smell you on me…”

Jaskier whines, his cock jumping in Geralt’s grip, because it’s always satisfying when Geralt’s like this; tongue loosened with drink, voice wrecked and talking utter filth (even though Jaskier knows _he’s_ generally the worse). His satisfaction is short-lived as his tortured bladder finally gives over and urine floods from him, a slow but steady leak at first as his body gets the message. And then he feels Geralt’s fingers wrap his cock once more, directing his stream until it’s pulsing just above the surface of the water, hissing obscenely in time with Geralt’s thrusts and Jaskier looks wildly around the chamber; half expecting the entirety of the bath house’s patrons to be staring through the haze of steam, before musing rather distantly that he didn’t think he would care.

He’s shaking and twitching and whimpering incoherently as his piss gushes over Geralt’s fingers and if one of the Witcher’s hands wasn’t holding him up, he knew he would sink into a puddle of bliss right there in the bottom of their tub. He senses vaguely, through the haze of consuming relief at being finally fucking _empty_ , Geralt tensing up behind him. He feels his hand leave his hip to grip his shoulder instead as he picks up the pace, fucking him with a renewed urgency and causing water to lap at the sides of the tub. Jaskier is still leaking in hot fits and dribbles as Geralt leans over to bury his face in his shoulder, biting down into his flesh and grunting low as he spills into the tight heat of Jaskier’s ass.

“Nng…Geralt… _fffuuuck_ …” Jaskier whispers, his own cock stiffening interestedly again.

For a few scattered moments, the sounds of Geralt’s hot breaths puffing against his skin and the little abortive roll of his hips as he finishes blot out all other thoughts, the weight of Geralt’s body draped over him warm and comforting.

“Hmmm, _mine_.” Geralt whispers, nosing Jaskier’s touseled mop of brown hair, and kissing his ear. Without pulling out, Geralt wraps both arms around Jaskier’s middle and pulls him into his chest before settling back against the edge of the tub once more.

“How do you manage to sound so threatening, yet unbelievably irresistible at the same time?” Jaskier croons a bit breathlessly, wriggling on Geralt’s half-hard cock as the Witcher trails wet fingers over his shoulders.

“Years of practice.” Geralt purrs into the curve of his shoulder.


End file.
